The Werewolf of Baker St
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Through the foggy mists of London's streets, Werewolves walk among us…
1. The Cry of the Wolf

221B BAKER STREET

On the strike of midnight a bloodcurdling howl pierced the air. As spine tingling as the sound was, there could be little doubt that it was a cry from the heart.

It spoke of rage, and of despair, and of loneliness.

The animalistic side of the creature was desperate to follow its natural instincts, consumed with an insatiable need to bond.

The creature's human side however kept these feelings on a tight leash, refusing to give in to such powerful and primal emotions.

The battle between the two had been raging for hundreds of years.

It was inevitable that one day the tipping point would finally be reached. The wolf had recently detected the tantalising scent of the one destined to become their mate, and it was determined to have her, come what may...


	2. Something Amiss

BARTS HOSPITAL – MORTUARY – 11.50 PM

Hooper finished cleaning up after performing the final autopsy for the night. As he prepared to leave he couldn't get the conversation he'd overhead between Detective Lestrade and the self-proclaimed Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes out of his head.

It was all so very odd, but he couldn't put his finger on why. They were clearly withholding relevant and important facts from him concerning the grizzly death of the young woman on whom he'd performed the autopsy.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to seeing what the very worst of human nature was capable of. That was to be expected in his line of work.

He was confident that his secret remained safe. That Scotland Yards finest, and even the great detective had not yet 'deduced' that Doctor Manfred Hooper was in fact Doctor Margaret Hooper.

So why were they withholding information from her?

Molly carefully went back over the conversation that had her so troubled.

EARLIER

"Thank God it's the final night of the full moon cycle," Lestrade muttered to Holmes, who was currently inspecting the wounds on the deceased woman.

"Indeed," the detective responded, having completed his inspection to his own satisfaction. "But this cannot be allowed to continue."

"Agreed," the inspector replied. "But how are we to bring this to an end when we don't even know where they are?"

"Leave it to me," Holmes said confidently. "I believe I may have uncovered a link, between the victims and a particular establishment. If I'm correct, then the situation will be in hand before the next…"

BARTS HOSPITAL – MORTUARY – 11.59 PM

She had been unable to learn anything more as the two men, possibly noting that Doctor Hooper was within earshot had left the morgue to continue they're conversation in private.

Whatever was going on she was certain that the two men knew far more than they were letting on. It was clear from the looks she had observed between the pair, backed up by their conversation that they had seen wounds like this before. As well as the distinct pattern emerging for when these murders were taking place.

Well if they weren't prepared to confide their findings with her, she was left with no alternative but to do some investigating of her own.

Reaching for her coat, hat and walking cane, she left the morgue, making her way along the teeming streets of London.


	3. Secrets Exposed

OUTSIDE ST BARTHOLOMEWS – EARLIER

A particularly heavy fog had descended over the City of London as Holmes and Lestrade left the hospital. It quickly merged with the heavily polluted air caused by the smoke and ash billowing from numerous factories. In a matter of minutes visibility had become severely restricted, with even that great city's most notable landmarks smothered beneath a cocoon of off white haze.

But just because you couldn't see something didn't mean that it wasn't there.

And Holmes knew as he glanced skyward that though it remained conveniently hidden to the naked eye, the full moon remained ever present somewhere above them.

More than that, he could feel it. And with every ounce of his remarkable control, he resisted its pull.

Turning back to address his companion, Holmes stated "I'll take care of it, Lestrade. No need to involve Scotland Yard in this business."

Lestrade was a good man, but he and his constabulary at the Yard were simply no match for what they were currently up against.

The inspector gave a resigned sigh. He knew from Holmes' tone that there was no arguing with him on this point.

"Very well, Holmes," he replied. As the consulting detective made his way briskly down the street, to be immediately swallowed up by the enveloping fog, Lestrade added. "Take care."

DESERTED ALLEYWAY – MIDNIGHT

Mabel Sykes had fallen on hard times. And for a young single woman with no family and of limited means there was only one option if she wished to escape ending up in the Work House.

So when she had been approached by the Madam of a well-known 'house of ill repute' The Whip Hand it seemed, on the surface at least, to be a far safer option to roaming the streets in search of paying customers.

But as she stood in the alleyway next to the brothel just as the clock struck midnight, Mabel began to have second thoughts. This despite the fact the Madam had assured her that she would be completely safe here as she awaited her client's arrival.

As the minutes ticked by Mabel felt increasingly nervous and vulnerable, absolutely certain she was being watched. But her attempts to breech the thick, murky fog proved unsuccessful.

In desperation she called out, anxiety making her voice unusually high. "Who's there?"

When the only response she received was a series of growls she began to shake uncontrollably. In growing fear she turned with the intention of going back inside the brothel, only pausing when a familiar voice called out to her.

"Oh no, my dear," the voice said. "Not that way."

Turning back, Mabel frowned, there was no-one there.

Adding to her confusion and growing unease was the certainty that although the voice had belonged to the madam, it was deeper, gravellier, and harsher.

"Madam Adler," the girl called out. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here," was the reply she received.

But by this time Mabel wasn't listening to what was being said. Her focus was on the three beasts that had emerged from the shadows. They were enormous hulks, with blazing eyes, slavering mouths full of viciously sharp teeth.

Without warning the three werewolves launched themselves at her.

The blood-curdling scream came to an abrupt end. It was immediately followed up by a chorus of howls.

Unlike many in the metropolis who chose to turn a blind eye and a deaf eye to any strange or unusual goings on, Mabel's fateful cry was heard, and responded to by not one, but two individuals in the area.

TWO STREETS AWAY

"Damnation!" Holmes roared, the knowledge that he'd been too slow to save another unfortunate woman adding fuel to his determination to catch those responsible.

He picked up his pace as he tore down the street, aided considerably by the fact he now travelled on four legs instead of two.

SEVERAL STREETS AWAY

At the awful cry Molly immediately gave up all pretence of being a gentleman on the lookout for some evening shenanigans.

Though the fog was still very thick, she let her instincts guide her in the direction she should go. Due to her stature, her stride was no match for Holmes. But she was small and she was agile, and at this time of great need she used them to her advantage.

THE WHIP HAND ALLEYWAY

When Holmes arrived on the scene he found himself confronted by the three werewolves, one female and two males.

Protocol stated that when werewolves from different packs first meet they revert to their were-form, the halfway point between human and wolf. Its purpose, so that all concerned would know exactly with whom they were dealing.

It was a courtesy, an unwritten rule that no pack dare disobey.

This the four immediately did.

Holmes instantly identified the other three as: Madam Irene Adler, Prof. James Moriarty and Master Charles Augustus Magnusson.

That the three should be involved in a despicable act as the murder of young women was of no surprise to the detective. What did surprise, and concerned him greatly was the unmistakable fact that they had joined forces.

And that was a disturbing development indeed.

But before he could begin questioning them pandemonium broke out, thanks to the unexpected arrival of St Bart's Pathologist, Dr. Manfred Hooper.

For while in their were-forms werewolves are extremely skittish. This is due to their synaptic pathways in their brains becoming overwhelmed by both their human and their wolf sides. This leaves them feeling incredibly vulnerable, at least until their brains calm down and adapt. And this is another reason why they must greet in were-form, for they are far less likely to be aggressive with one another.

The sight that greeted Molly's horrified gaze far surpassed her worst nightmares. Standing around the butchered remains of another innocent victim were four – creatures.

At her audible gasp three of the creatures ran off, but the fourth one remained, standing there still as a statue.

In truth Holmes would have preferred running off as well, instead he didn't move, frozen in shock, as internally man and wolf conducted a heated debate.

Both were looking at Hooper. But where one saw a respected colleague, the other saw –

"Mate!" Holmes wolf howled in delight. The search was finally over.

"Don't be ridiculous," Holmes argued. "Hooper may be small, but he is most definitely male."

The wolf could not believe what he was hearing. Could his human half not smell the tantalising scent coming off of her. It rolled over the wolf in continuous waves, it was driving him crazy. They'd been waiting so long to find their mate, how was it possible his human half couldn't see what was right in front of them.

Scared though she was Molly still maintained enough professionalism to catalogue details about the creature before her to memory, so she might give a full and accurate description in the police report, should she make it out of this situation alive.

It appeared to be a cross between a man and a beast.

'It could possibly be a dog. No.' Molly shook her head. 'That howl.' It still caused shivers to rush up and down her spine, wolf, was a more accurate description.

The creature's body was tall and slim, though surprisingly muscular. The extra hair that covered its body ensured enough modesty, stopping it from revealing its completely naked form.

It was only as she looked at the creature's face that incredulously she realised she knew the creature before her.

The cry she gave alerting Holmes, who immediately reverted completely into human form.

This was too much for Molly, who took flight back the way she had come.

With no consideration to his nakedness, Holmes took off after Hooper.

"Wait, Hooper! Let me explain!"

Molly could feel Holmes catching up to her. She felt as though her lungs were going to explode, but still she pushed on, the vision of the young woman's ravaged body still fresh in her mind.

Holmes knew he couldn't allow Hooper to escape, so he brought him down with a rugby tackle.

Molly hit the pavement hard, hard enough that her wig and false moustache were dislodged. And Holmes found himself looking down at a young woman with big brown eyes and long chestnut coloured hair.

His wolf had been right. Doctor Hooper was indeed a woman.

Holmes shook his head in disbelief, a self-deriding smile turning up his cupids-bow lips as he was forced to acknowledge his own folly.

"It would appear I always miss something, Miss Hooper."

Skulking in the shadows, Moriarty's human collaborator Moran didn't know what to make of what he had just witnessed between Holmes and the woman who had been masquerading as a man.

But he knew the good professor would have more than a few ideas.


	4. Revalations

221B BAKER ST

Behind closed lids she remembered...  
\- "Thank God it's the final night of the full moon cycle," Lestrade muttered to Holmes, who was currently inspecting the wounds on the deceased woman.  
\- The viciously ravaged body of the young woman in the alleyway.  
\- The creature that transformed into Sherlock Holmes.  
\- Running for her life.  
\- Being caught.

And then...  
\- A carriage emerging through the fog.  
\- Being bundled inside.  
\- Finally overcome, and everything going dark...

With the greatest of reluctance Molly's eyes flickered open, to find herself lying on a sofa. She then became aware of voices, some she recognised, others she did not. Although she strained her ears to hear what was being said she could not make out the detail, but it was clear that whatever the disagreement it had descended into a heated, if whispered, argument.

But if she hoped to remain unobserved she was to be disappointed.

"It would appear your 'damsel in distress' has deigned to rejoin us," remarked the pompous, heavily-set, official-looking gentleman sarcastically.

"Enough Mycroft," the familiar baritone of Holmes growled.

"How exactly brother mine do you intend to explain to your mate what it was she witnessed?"

Mate? Molly's brow furrowed at its implication, while at the same time noting the undisguised loathing with which Holmes, the elder all but spat the word.

"Mycroft," this time the growl was more pronounced, animalistic in its intensity as the detective took a threatening step towards his brother.

"Oh shush you two. Doctor Hooper has more than enough to deal with without you two going all Alpha," admonished the blonde-haired women, clearly confident that she was more than a match for the bickering siblings.

She made her way over to where Molly lay and assisted her in sitting up.

"How are you feeling my dear?" she asked kindly, with a friendly smile that instantly put Molly at ease, despite the bizarre circumstances she found herself in.

Molly took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. Given the practical nature of the furniture and the sparse, simple furnishings, with an assortment of books, papers and medical instruments that littered the place, it was clear she was in the private rooms of a gentleman, or as her eyes came to rest on Holmes, now suitably reclothed, one gentleman in particular.

And her breathing immediately became more rapid. "Who..?" she choked out, fear once again threatening to overwhelm her. "What are you people?"

"Werewolves," the woman responded airily.

"Mary!" the outraged exclamation came from Holmes' associate and chronicler, Dr. John Watson.

"Oh pish, she has already witnessed Sherlock in his were-form. There seems very little point in beating around the bush," Mary tuttered impatiently.

Before Watson could attempt reprimanding his wife, Holmes smoothly stepped in.

"Quite right Mary," the detective acknowledged warmly."Any attempts to conceal or deny what Hooper...," he paused briefly, a light tinge of pink highlighting his perfectly sculptured cheekbones. "...what Hooper witnessed is pointless. She is an intelligent, astute and resourceful young woman, who herself is well-versed in the art of disguise, and understands the need for concealment. We therefore have no option but to throw ourselves at her mercy, and beg her to listen to what we have to say before making any judgement for or against us."

The request was made with such earnestness, with none of Holmes' usual arrogance. Throughout the impassioned plea he maintained eye contact, a surprisingly intimate act for one known to prefer to remain detached from all forms of sentiment. Though Molly now knew that this reserve was not shown within that small exclusive group of those he regarded as his nearest and dearest. So where did that leave her? What in particular was she to him?

Mate.

The mere implication of the word, not to mention the way he continued to watch her caused violent shivers to race up and down her spine, though whether a sign of fear or awakened desire she was not willing to speculate.

"There's no need to fear Sherlock," Mary assured her.

Certainly to look at the now impeccably dressed gentleman before her it was difficult to believe that he was anything other than what he purported to be, in this case the world's only consulting detective. The man with an extraordinary brain, capable of finding details and clues that others either didn't see, or failed to comprehend there importance until the great detective placed all the facts before them, leaving them dumbfounded that they had not been able to deduce what had been right in front of them all along.

But it was all a deception, a mask of civility that hid something far more powerful, and primitive...

"Tea, that's what we need right now," Mrs Hudson, Holmes' erstwhile landlady announced as she headed out the door to make the necessary preparations.

Molly raised her cup to her lips, grimacing with distaste when she found the contents stone cold. On reflection there hadn't been much time to drink the tea, overwhelmed as she had been by what she was being told.

Even now she found it all so fantastical. It was the stuff of fairy stories, or nightmares. And yet she had witnessed with her own eyes that which should not have been possible. She felt the weight of responsibility, as those before her watched her closely as they waited to see how she would respond to all she had learned.

"It's a lot to comprehend," Holmes noted in a rough yet gentle tone.

She put her cup and saucer down, as she nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, if I have this aright," she began. "Werewolves have always lived among us. Living and working with the human population, a few of whom know your secret. And you have managed to remain hidden for centuries, until recently when a new breed of werewolf arrived."

Molly paused. She knew she should be more concerned with the details of what made these werewolves different to the new arrivals, but for the life of her there was only one aspect that she wanted answered, the one that Holmes had been at pains to avoid at all cost.

But all throughout the explanations, Molly had been aware of his constant regard. His eyes remained fixed upon her, and what she read in their depths had her head filling with thoughts that had her pressing her legs closely together

It was only when he inhaled deeply, his gaze turning positively molten, that she realised he could scent her arousal, and that it was increasing his own.

Mate. The word hung between them, pawing frantically at them, refusing to release them from its hold.

With Hooper's renowned forthrightness, Molly decided to take the plunge into the unknown.

Turning her gaze to meet Holmes' full on, she inquired. "Why is your brother is under the impression that I'm your mate?"

It was clear that the conversation was about to turn to more delicate and private matters, so the others quietly withdrew, giving the couple the privacy necessary for such an explanation.

Mary Watson paused as she made to follow her husband, catching Molly's eye before remarking as she nodded towards Sherlock, "He's a puppy dog really... when he's not howling at the moon."

With an impish grin she took her leave.


End file.
